e and adventure. Many another
man has done the like, and made as fatal a mistake.

The first break-up of spring found the party following the ice-run of
Elk River. It was an imposing fleet, for the outfit was large, and they
were accompanied by a disreputable contingent of half-breed voyageurs
with their women and children. Day in and day out, they labored with
the bateaux and canoes, fought mosquitoes and other kindred pests, or
sweated and swore at the portages. Severe toil like this lays a man
naked to the very roots of his soul, and ere Lake Athabasca was lost in
the south, each member of the party had hoisted his true colors.

The two shirks and chronic grumblers were Carter Weatherbee and Percy
Cuthfert. The whole party complained less of its aches and pains than
did either of them. Not once did they volunteer for the thousand and
one petty duties of the camp. A bucket of water to be brought, an extra
armful of wood to be chopped, the dishes to be washed and wiped, a
search to be made through the outfit for some suddenly indispensable
article--and these two effete scions of civilization discovered sprains
or blisters requiring instant attention.

They were the first to turn in at night, with score of tasks yet
undone; the last to turn out in the morning, when the start should be
in readiness before the breakfast was begun.

They were the first to fall to at mealtime, the last to have a hand in
the cooking; the first to dive for a slim delicacy, the last to
discover they had added to their own another man's share. If they
toiled at the oars, they slyly cut the water at each stroke and allowed
the boat's momentum to float up the blade. They thought nobody noticed;
but their comrades swore under their breaths and grew to hate them,
while Jacques Baptiste sneered openly and damned them from morning till
night. But Jacques Baptiste was no gentleman.

At the Great Slave, Hudson Bay dogs were purchased, and the fleet sank
to the guards with its added burden of dried fish and pemican. Then
canoe and bateau answered to the swift current of the Mackenzie, and
they plunged into the Great Barren Ground. Every likely-looking
'feeder' was prospected, but the elusive 'pay-dirt' danced ever to the
north. At the Great Bear, overcome by the common dread of the Unknown
Lands, their voyageurs began to desert, and Fort of Good Hope saw the
last and bravest bending to the towlines as they bucked the current
down which they had so